The Stalk
by Lovely Ooishi
Summary: Ooishi catches a suspicious trespasser in the clubroom, and is now caught up in a web of lies, lunch and Arai. OoishiXOC. ON HOLD for suspicious reasons.
1. It Was There

Ooishi lifted the lid of his desk, already knowing what awaited him in the depths.

"Another one," he sighed to himself as he extracted the bento, the words 'please leave the box' written on it in permanent marker, and set it on the table.

How long had that been going on for? One week, a little over? He didn't know, but it was getting quite tiresome. He could not deny his mysterious lunch-giver was a good cook, though - usually he resorted to giving his own home-brought bento to one of his friends and eating the wholly more suspicious one instead.

He tugged lightly on the pale blue cloth wrapping the box. The knot came undone quickly, and Ooishi picked up the disposable chopsticks taped neatly to the side of the plastic container.

There was a good selection of food that day. Egg rolls were lined up orderly in one compartment, and to his surprise he found octopus-shaped wieners directly next to them. The rice and side-dishes were all still warm. Splitting the chopsticks apart, he gave the customary call of 'Itadakimasu!' - more to himself than to the others in the room - and begin to eat.

As much as he enjoyed these tiny acts of kindness, he knew they had to stop.

--

He'd planned it all. How to find him or her, this lunch-giver.

Every day he'd receive two bentos - one for lunch and one for the break they had during club activities (deposited in his shoe locker, somehow). 'Catching' this person during lunch time was definitely difficult since there was always some switching of classes. There'd be ample time for someone to slip in and out.

So break it was.

Harsh, long hours of training made it hard to concentrate on the door all day, and so Ooishi, cleverly (or not so) making use of his fuku-buchou standing in the club, persuaded several freshmen to watch the clubroom, giving them the impression that some things had been going missing recently. One little white lie wouldn't do much harm, would it?

All went well. The time for break crept near.

Then the alarm sounded.

"Ooishi-senpai! I think we've got her!" The freshman came running up. "The others are stopping her from leaving."

It _was_ a 'her'. He was quite unsurprised.

"Well, I think I need to talk to this person,"

The door was pushed open, and Ooishi stepped in. One of the random freshmen had a firm hold on the perpetrator's right wrist.

"Ah…!" she gasped as the bowling-ball-headed figure entered, and broke free of the freshman's grip. "You…"

Ooishi himself was unsure of how to go about extracting a confession from her. Did he even want a confession in the first place? What was it that he wanted again…? Oh yes, for her to stop.

"Uh, are you the one -"

The vice-captain's interrogation session was interrupted as the usual dark-skinned, arrogant second year strode into the room.

"Oi, freshmen! Why aren't you swinging your – _O-Ooishi-senpai!_" the last two words were reduced to a squeak as Arai Masashi realised that there had been another person of admittedly higher authority than him in the room.

He gave another strangled squeal as he saw the girl which had just become imprisoned in the Seishun Gakuen Boys' Tennis Club's clubroom. The expression of minor shock which had been on his face until just a few seconds ago, now warped into a mixture of distress, confusion and embarrassment.

Ooishi examined this scene curiously.

"You know her?"

There was only silence.

"I'm his sister," the schoolgirl responded, waving at her brother.

"Ah." the young fuku-buchou nodded understandingly.

Silence filled the room for the second time.

"… _What_?"

Arai looked like he was about to cry.

Recovering from his sudden outburst, Ooishi looked from Arai (female) to Arai (male). The second time he looked, indeed they looked related. They shared the same hair colour, though Arai (male) was undoubtedly tanner.

"_Why_ are you even here in the first place?" Arai (male) asked his sister, speaking through his gritted teeth.

"I was just going to give you a bento, Masashi," Arai (female) replied, shooting him a smile. She dug into the plastic bag hanging at her wrist, and brought out a box similar to the kind Ooishi had been receiving.

Their sibling exchange continued for a while, a perplexed Ooishi barely following the conversation.

"_Matsuri!_"

Well, at least he didn't have to refer to each of them in his mind with their gender specified at the end anymore.

"I just wanted to make sure you were eating, okaa-san said -"

Deciding that an intervention was in order, the vice-captain cleared his throat loudly. They seemed to have forgotten his entire presence.

"So, let me get this straight… Arai-san was just giving Arai a bento…?" he tried to clarify, the over-attendance of 'Arai's making his speech hard to comprehend.

"Yes,"

"You were _not_,"

Matsuri just dropped the bento in the general direction of Arai, who immediately scrambled to catch it, which he did, fortunately. He scowled, but didn't look _too_ irritated – the scent of what seemed to be _karaage_ was wafting from the bento box.

"Thanks," he muttered, and left the area, the few puzzled freshmen following him like dogs.

The girl watched her brother leave, a somewhat self-satisfied smile on her face. She noticed Ooishi looking at her, and fired a grin at him.

"That's it. I'm going now,"

It was strange, the way she said such a cheerful thing without raising her voice. The feeling Ooishi got while hearing this last statement was somewhat calming. He shook it off quickly, and returned to the situation at hand.

"Ah, sorry for the trouble caused,"

She nodded her head, the grin on her face fading into a sheepish one. Matsuri's footsteps quickened a bit as she walked through the open doorway, looking at her feet the whole time.

_Somehow, something doesn't sit right,_ Ooishi thought, staring at the third-year's retreating back. She had acted a bit weirdly when she was first caught, and Arai seemed surprised when she turned up. Also, he never got the chance to question her about what she was doing in the clubroom in the first place. She could have just passed it to Arai, but –

"_OISHII_!"

Ooishi, who had been contemplating the increasing number of loopholes in Arai Matsuri's story, was startled by Kikumaru Eiji's loud and not-so-flashy entrance.

"Eiji… ah, what -"

"Stop standin' there looking blank, nya! Practice, it's time for practice!" Kikumaru yelled, placing both hands on Ooishi's back and pushing him out. "I've been looking for you for ages!"

They were nearing the tennis courts. Kikumaru abruptly let go of his partner, who stumbled and nearly fell. The former sighed, putting a hand on his hip.

"Honestly, Ooishi! It's times like this where I'm the mother of the Mother of Seigaku!" he complained, steadying his companion with his free arm. "What were you doing in there anyway?"

The vice-captain considered how to put the event into words.

"I met Arai's sister, who was trespassing in our clubroom,"

"… Huh?"

Ooishi merely stifled his laughter. _I don't want to bother Eiji with this trivial matter… I'll solve it myself._

"Never mind," he reassured his friend, swinging open the metal gate of the courts.

Spotting his tennis bag on a bench, he pulled out his racquet and fingered it, checking if the grip tape was secure.

_I can't let this affect my tennis, anyway._

"Are we ready now?" called Kawamura from across the court. He was probably partnered with Fuji to play against them.

"Un," Ooishi affirmed, flexing his wrist a few times.

"Oishii! Let's show them what the Golden Pair's all about, nya!" Kikumaru flashed him a thumbs-up and a smile.

Nodding, he took his place on the court.

--

The next day, a bento appeared in its usual place.

--

A/N: Thank you for viewing this chapter. There will be less OC, more Arai, less Mary-Sue and more tennis later on. Well, probably, anyway.


	2. This Has To Stop

_No, this has to stop…_

The bento sat on his lap in a somewhat taunting manner.

_Wasting food isn't good, so I can't just ignore these…_

These repeated acts of thoughtfulness were starting to turn into plain creepy. Several times he had thought he was being followed, only to turn his head and see no one. He never even heard footsteps, most of the time, but the ghostly presence of _someone_ wouldn't shake. Regarding exactly who that 'someone' was, he was clueless.

He _was_ hungry; it was lunchtime after all. Sighing, Ooishi Shuuichirou pried open the lid of the bento and examined its contents.

At least his mysterious lunch-giver had thought to vary the type of food he or she had put in.

_He?!_

_No, wait, it can't be a _he_._ _Oh god._

His chopsticks trembled as his mind worked. He'd start with those with easy access to the clubroom, mainly the regulars. The actually edible food ruled Inui out. Tezuka? Ooishi didn't even dare think. Fuji - he felt a shiver pulse down his spine - would probably do it for some kind of sick joke. Kikumaru was, frankly, quite proficient at cooking, and then there was Taka-san. Why were they doing this? What - did they _like_ him or something? Enough to _stalk him with food?_

Mortified, Ooishi dropped his chopsticks on the floor. He wasn't safe in the tennis club anymore.

--

"Eh?! Ooishi isn't coming for practice?" Kikumaru looked inquiringly at the dataman.

"He said he wasn't feeling well and went home early," Inui replied, snapping his notebook shut. "He looked like he was having a stomachache when he told me."

"Ooishi isn't usually defeated by trivial things like that, is he?" mused Fuji. "I wonder what's up with him."

"Maybe Ooishi-senpai's getting old," Momoshiro grinned. "Maybe he's worrying about something that doesn't really matter, again."

"Aa, that's expected of him, isn't it, Momo," supplied Kawamura. "The Mother of Seigaku."

The club dispersed and went off to practice, puzzled and yet not really.

--

He heard a gentle knock on the door.

"Shuuichirou, are you feeling better?"

"Un. I'm fine, kaa-san," came the weak reply.

The cramping in his midsection had stopped. It always happened when he was nervous.

He pressed his pen against his forehead a few more times and slumped on the desk in defeat.

Homework would never help.

--

"Eh, Masashi?"

"_Matsuri?_ What're you doing here again?"

"_You're_ not supposed to be here either," she slid the plastic bag with the food behind her back, out of her brother's prying eyes.

"If you haven't noticed, I'm a club member," Arai finished tying his laces, and stood up.

"Oh."

"What - you really do come here every day, don't you?"

There was no reply; Matsuri simply turned and made her way to the door.

"You need to be a little more straightforward in your tact," he smirked.

She stopped, hand on the doorknob.

"O-Ooishi-kun isn't here today, is he?"

"Yeah, like that, straight to the point."

"I guess not."

She sighed and clicked the door open.

--

Ooishi fixed his hair once more in front of the mirror in the hallway, before leaving the house.

He'd spent the previous night sorting everything out in his mind. _Just act like you haven't noticed anything, just act like you haven't noticed anything._ His mouth shaped the words as he walked down the pavement towards Seishun Middle School. Yesterday's trauma made him realise he really _didn't_ want to find out the culprit.

_So this is how those idols must feel,_ he thought, recalling a newspaper article he had read a few weeks ago about a similar incident. Most of the more popular idol singers were stalked by passionate fans, sometimes even a large group of them. A large number of these cases ended with 'fan kidnaps idol, idol calls police after escaping from ropes/chains, police arrive, capture fan, next day idol gets attacked again'.

Feeling a small, tingling feeling behind his neck, Ooishi rubbed the affected area cautiously. This was usually one of the first signs that he was being followed, after compiling all his previous incidents and listing out all indications and possible precautions. He'd probably start to hear footsteps after this; he had to be careful now. Ooishi quickened his pace a bit.

At this speed, he'd only need an estimated five minutes to get to the station another ten minutes on the bullet train and five more minutes to walk to school. Hopefully he'd feel safer in the vehicle.

After what seemed like forever, he reached the station. He approached the ticket barrier, fumbling a bit with his pocket to remove his wallet. When the process was complete, the office lady that had been standing behind him gave an impatient 'tch' and folded her arms. Ooishi could only give her a sheepish smile and mumble a 'sorry' as he scanned his stored-value card.

The train was not very crowded, but Ooishi ended up giving his seat up to an old lady and her grandson, the latter sat on his grandmother's lap. The elder gave him a 'thank you' and smiled, managing to keep his thoughts off his stalker for a while.

The ten minute ride ended when the vice-captain got off at the third stop, along with a few other Seishun Gakuen students who had been on the same train. One of them waved at him – his face was pretty well known, he was in the student council after all.

Exiting the station, he heaved a sigh of relief. Hopefully his phantom stalker (or not) had disappeared. It could have very well been a figment of his imagination. Yes, he was thinking too much. Everyone in the club (except maybe Tezuka) had agreed on this.

_Shuuichirou, you have to learn how to relax_, his conscience spoke. _The bentos were probably a mistake. Or a fangirl. Do I have fangirls? Someone from the tennis club probably asked a girl to do it for a joke. But would they carry a joke this far? You never know…_ He was sure he had trained all the first-years and second-years to have good character; surely they'd never do something like this. Maybe they had meant it for Mayama, who sat next to him. Mayama was pretty good-looking, maybe they had gotten their desks mixed up? They should have realised the mistake by now, though.

_Could it have been a teacher? NO. What am I thinking? It_ has_ to be a female, non-teacher. I hope… Is the food stalker the same as the stalker? Maybe. Not really. Possible. Yes. No._

And before he knew it, he _was_ thinking too much.

At least, until he heard the footsteps again.

A reflex, he swiftly turned on his heels (why it had never occurred to him to do this now, he didn't know and would never).

--

A/N: Hmm… It's kind of obvious now, isn't it? Ahaha.


	3. But It Isn't Now

Apparently his stalker did not possess enough time to escape from his eyes, for he managed to catch the profile of the girl as she dashed past him.

He recognized it instantly. After all, they had met only a few days ago.

--

Ooishi lifted the lid of his desk cautiously; half-afraid of what was going to be there. He scanned the wooden compartment for the usual bento.

The papers he had left stacked neatly in the corner of it were still there; untouched and still in their pristine white condition. He had put a few packs of extra pens in there too, in case every one of his seven emergency pens seemed to have dried up during a test of some sort. The somewhat gluey card Kikumaru had given him on his birthday was inside too; a few tugs at it revealed that it had fastened itself to the wood. Not wanting to rip the card (or the desk), Ooishi left it as it was.

_That's odd_, he thought, though he was already half-expecting it, somewhat.

He unintentionally let the top of the desk fall – it closed with a loud crash, earning him annoyed glances from his various neighbours. Ooishi nodded at them, an apologetic smile on his face. He hadn't meant to do that.

"Ooishi-kun,"

The addressee looked up at who was calling his name – standing in the doorway a girl from the student council; he recognized her. Racking his brains to match the face to a name, he eventually settled on Miyazawa Etsuko. She smiled at him, and edged into the classroom, a large and dangerous-looking stack of books balanced in her arms.

"Sorry for coming here, but I need to ask you for a favour," Miyazawa grinned sheepishly, the books she was carrying looking like they were about to tumble off her any minute. Her thick Kansai accent made it hard to understand what she was saying. "Y'see, Kitamura-sensei told me to ask the Home Ec. Club for their updated member list, but at that time my friend dumped this whole lot of books I was supposed to return to the school library, and as you can see, they –" (at this point, she stopped to steady the books on the top of the pile) "– are killing me, and so I was wondering… Could you go to the Home Ec. Club in my place?"

Seeing the state of things the fellow council member was in immediately, Ooishi agreed.

--

The Home Economics Club's clubroom (basically, the Home Economics room) was on the first floor, overlooking the school field. If one was a club member, one would have the privilege of enjoying the view while cooking a meal, but this advantage was cancelled out by the various types of bugs that flew in the window and into the nearest soup.

The club members were usually present in the clubroom during their lunch break, cooking their own lunch and eating it. Ooishi wondered why Momoshiro hadn't gone and joined this club yet, but brushed that thought out of his mind as he knocked on the door (originally blue, but now faded and stained with grease and the sorts).

"Come in," someone replied, their voice mostly blocked out by the thick wood, but still intelligible.

Ooishi pushed the door open slowly.

Four people were gathered around a table, where half a plate of cake sat. One of them stood out the most – he seemed to be the only boy in the room. His dark hair was pulled back by a pink, polka-dotted hair band, and an apron was tied loosely around his waist. He was stuffing himself with the food, as with the other individuals in the room.

"Yo," he greeted Ooishi, then turned his head and continued eating.

Somewhat irritated by the youngster's behavior (though he himself was the same age), Ooishi pointedly aimed his gaze at one of the female members, and introduced himself.

"I'm Ooishi of class 3-2, in the student council," he started, unsure if anyone was listening to him or not. "Would any of you happen to have the Home Economics Club's updated member list?"

The head banded boy raised his eyebrows, then grinned at the vice-captain.

"Why didn't you say so? Sasazuka here," he presented himself, putting down the half-eaten slice of cake he was about to bite into. "But our leader's not here yet, you'll have to wait until she comes,"

Ooishi held out a piece of paper.

"Ah, it's okay. Just write everyone's names here on this list, and their classes," he stated, as the other boy looked over the piece he had just been given.

Sasazuka nodded. Picking up a pen from underneath one of the plates, he began filling out the form slowly. Whether this was deliberate or not, Ooishi could not determine. The other club members, chewing to some kind of rhythm, seemed not to have noticed his presence at all.

"Sasazuka… Ryoutarou… 3-6. That makes six…" he finished, pressing the pen to his forehead in a way eerily similar to Ooishi's habit.

The latter smiled, holding out his hand for the paper expectantly.

"Sasazuka, you idiot - we only have seven members," a random member looked up from her cake and pointed out. "You can't even remember the number of people in this club."

"Sorry! Let me see who I missed out… Kimura, Nikai– ah, I remember now. Arai… Matsuri," Sasazuka quickly penned down the name, contrasting with his previous speed, and handed the paper over to Ooishi. He flashed an apologetic peace sign, before turning back to the plate of cake.

Something seemed familiar about the name list. Ooishi looked through it once more. Her name was there, at the bottom, in the worst and most illegible handwriting that ever met his eyes.

_Arai Matsuri._

He remembered that scene, of course, it only happened two days ago – his first unfortunate encounter with the very suspicious older sister of Arai. The second had been that morning.

--

He stood at the doorway of class 3-11.

"Thank you, thank you!" Miyazawa bowed repeatedly, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose.

"Eh, it wasn't a big deal," he managed to reply, slightly embarrassed at the girl's overreaction, passing her the list.

She took a small break from bowing. "Oh yeah, the student council's having a meeting today, directly after school," she paused momentarily to push her glasses up. "It's kinda short notice, but the stall allocation for the school festival's already out. I think we'll need a representative for each club and class too – d'you think you could…" her voice trailed off, and she looked at Ooishi nervously.

"Ah, it's no big deal, I think we still have some time," he nodded at the girl, whose eyes sparkled with something not unlike once-dormant immense respect for the most responsible member of the student council.

"Great, here's a list of the club leaders and their classes," breathless, Miyazawa handed him another list, a two-page on this time, stapled at the corner. "I'll take half, would it be fair if you took the other?"

"It's okay," Ooishi smiled at her, and the list became two separate pages.

--

He never thought he'd had to visit the Home Economics room so soon. They were still eating, but had moved on from cake to slightly misshapen cookies, fresh out of the oven and mostly black instead of brown. The door was open, so Ooishi took it upon himself to walk in.

"Oh, it's you again," Sasazuka looked up, wiping crumbs from his mouth with his sleeve. "Do you want a cookie or what?"

"No, nothing like that," he laughed awkwardly, realised it wasn't a joke, and became businesslike once again. "It's short notice, but we need a representative from your club for the student council meeting later today. Is there anyone who-"

"Well, you'd have to ask our leader, since I've got baseball practice then," Sasazuka lay back in his chair, apparently full. "She's right there, in fact." He pointed at the door, and Ooishi swung around.


	4. And It Probably Won't

Ooishi blinked once or twice, before speaking.

"Arai… Matsuri, isn't it?" he asked warily.

"Un," she replied curtly, stepping into the room and setting the books she carried on the table. "Um, is there anything…?" She looked at him pointedly.

"Ah, I'm sorry," Ooishi felt warm all over, and he knew he was turning red from nervousness – maybe it was because their first meeting had been, on the most part, unpleasant. "Are you the leader of this club?"

"Yes, but only officially."

He raised an eyebrow. "_Only officially?_"

"Sasazuka here does most of the actual leading," she gestured towards her clubmate, who ignored her and picked up one of the books instead. "I just represent the club."

"Well, can you spare, say, half an hour or so after school? The stall allocations for the school festival are out, and the student council needs to discuss this with everyone. We'll be meeting at the reception room."

"It's fine."

"Ahaha, well, I'll be going now," Ooishi inclined his head slightly, before turning and walking out.

As the door shut quietly behind the student council member, Sasazuka stood up and patted Matsuri on her shoulder. Lightly, once, twice.

"Are you okay, buchou?"

She nodded, shoulders shaking traitorously.

"I'm fine, Sasazuka."

--

Ooishi ascended the stairs, his eyes alternating between watching the floor and the space in front of him.

_What had that been just now?_

He did not know. His nerves were getting to him again, making his stomach ache slightly. Hopefully he'd be able to attend the meeting after school without the pain getting to his head. Whatever it was, he didn't like it.

On the way back to his class he popped into Tezuka's classroom, where they both agreed that Ooishi should represent the tennis club – someone _had_ to watch the club members (regulars included), who 

regularly skimped on their training. After that he checked his watch and darted off to Miyazawa's class, told her that everything was settled, and swiftly made his way back to his own.

--

Class ended uneventfully that day. Ooishi scooped everything on his table into his bag in one sweep and proceeded out of the door.

The reception room wasn't far from his classroom – one level down and a bit to the right. Miyazawa was already there, along with the student council president and someone he recognized only as the captain of the less-prolific table-tennis club. A few unfamiliar girls were there as well; one of them was holding a badminton racquet case, he assumed that she was representing the badminton club.

It took a while before everyone arrived. Only at fifteen minutes after the official meeting time did all attendees settle into their seats to begin the meeting. Ooishi scanned the faces at the table. Some looked forced into doing this job, while others looked like they had been doing this forever. The freshmen, especially the females, looked nervous – this was probably their first meeting with seniors, club captains and student council members, all whom they could not mess up in front of.

"So, let's begin the discussion for the school festival. I'd like everyone to confirm what kind of stall their class is setting up, so I'll read out this list. If there are any mistakes, let us know," the president said, pushing up his glasses with two fingers, a sheet of paper clasped in his right hand.

He began reciting the list; occasionally he raised his hand to his face to adjust his spectacles, their lenses glinting in a way not unlike Inui's, Ooishi noticed.

"… 3-11, a shooting game -"

"WAIT!" Miyazawa raised her hand and waved it about wildly. "It's a drinks stall," she corrected, nodding at the student council president.

"Correction noted,"

_3-11…_ Ooishi could feel himself getting goosebumps. _That's Inui's class…_

He made a mental reminder to talk to Inui about this certain incident. After all, they couldn't have students collapsing left and right during the festival.

"… 3-2, a café, and 3-1, a shooting game. And that concludes the third-years," the leader looked expectantly at the crowd. "Anything wrong?"

Most people shook their heads, the rest murmuring their approval.

"Okay, next we have the second years…"

Ooishi didn't register what the student council president said next – he'd just caught sight of Arai Matsuri, who sat next to another girl who seemed reasonably friendly with her. Was it just him, or did she seem like an utterly different person?

She didn't speak much, he noticed. Every time the other girl talked, all she'd do was nod and smile. Somehow it unnerved him; the fact that the imperious captain of the Home Economics club and this overall more demure-looking girl were the same person just didn't seem to click logically.

He turned his gaze onto Miyazawa instead, who looked distinctly less comfortable here than in her classroom. She caught his eye and smiled, and Ooishi did the same back, a small wave of relief washing over him.

At last the meeting ended, and everything for the upcoming school festival was set in stone.

--

The shoe locker was empty.

Ooishi had expected it. After all, the in-desk bento hadn't been there.

He sort of missed it. The everyday lunch-giving ritual had gone on for weeks, and it really didn't trouble him much. It was only kind of creepy, like a stalker.

_Stalker_.

He hadn't really given what had happened that morning much thought; after all, it could have just been a figment of imagination. He usually felt the ghostly presence of a follower when he walked down some of the school hallways, it wouldn't be unusual if he started sensing it when he was walking to school.

The vice-captain unbuttoned his shirt, sighing while doing so. He slipped it off and pulled on the Seigaku regulars uniform, his name sewn inside the collar to distinguish it from the rest of his friends'. It was too hot for the jacket, thus he left it in the clubroom. After quickly switching from the long, black pants that was part of the Seishun Gakuen uniform to the tennis shorts the regulars wore, Ooishi slipped out of the room, racquet firmly gripped in his right hand.

_Well, there's no point thinking about that now,_ he reasoned, feeling the grip tape he had fastened onto the racquet to check if it was secure enough.

Momoshiro Takeshi grinned at him from the courts.

"Senpai! Tezuka told me to wait for you," the second-year yelled, waving to his senior as he pushed open the gate to the courts. Behind him, Ooishi observed, stood Echizen Ryoma, their talented freshman. He sported the usual white Fila cap and bored expression, his racquet clasped loosely in his left hand.

"Ooishi-senpai, _uissu_," Echizen greeted his superior, pulling his cap down over his eyes. He seemed to be sweating a bit – the result of summer's blazing heat.

"Afternoon," Ooishi replied, then turned to Momoshiro. "Why did Tezuka want you to wait for me?"

"He told me to play a match with you," the younger boy replied, his expression showing some bitterness at first, but was quickly covered up by a large beam. "The rest have already started their matches, besides Echizen. The first person who wins their match will probably play him,"

The third-year nodded, tilting his head to look at Echizen, whose back was facing his two seniors. He seemed pretty annoyed, he probably had wanted to play a game first. It was cute, in a way.

"Eh, Ooishi-senpai, may we start the match now?" interjected Momoshiro, taking off his regular jacket to reveal the usual yellow shirt he wore underneath.

"Sure," Ooishi nodded at his fellow club member as Echizen walked himself over to a bench, a bottle of milk suddenly appearing in his other hand. "Momoshiro, you serve,"

"_Uissu_," he replied, taking his place on the court and stretching a bit. His left pocket was bulging slightly – he had stuffed a few tennis balls in there beforehand.

Ooishi stood opposite him; his two signature bangs now sticking to his forehead with the help of sweat. It _was_ summer, after all.

Momoshiro gave Ooishi a small jerk of his head, and tossed the tennis ball to serve.

--

Pinkish clouds littered the orange sky, and a small cheer from the courts the second-years were using indicated that evening practice had ended. Ooishi, who had spent the last ten minutes or so of practice discussing the training menu with Inui, had quite lost track of time.

The heat had died down a bit since the match with Momoshiro that afternoon. It ended with a score of 6 – 4, Ooishi's win. He had noted that the ever-hungry second-year needed work on his dash (made evident when he had launched a few Moon Volleys at him), leading to the need to devise a new training plan.

After a quick change back to his uniform in the clubroom, Ooishi instructed the freshmen to clean up the courts, picked up a stray tennis ball and cleaned his shoe locker.

It was still empty (_not like he was anticipating anything_,he made himself think).

He waved a few goodbyes to the members who had not already left – Arai and Ikeda seemed to be waiting around for somebody, Kawamura was looking for a roll of grip tape that he had lost near the tennis courts, and Tezuka was staying behind to talk to Ryuuzaki-sensei.

He exited the school gates, attempting to push all thoughts about the missing bento to the back of his mind.

That was, of course, until he felt himself being stalked for the second time that day.

--

A/N: The fanfiction's a bit tame as for now. (sweatdrop) The OC is probably going to appear a bit more, but not too much; I'm attempting to focus on Ooishi's feelings. If it's not working, or if this piece is ineffective, feel free to scream at me in a review (loudly).

…I've just realised that I've listened to the Koikaze (Windy day mix) CD nearly 30 times on repeat…


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